The butcher’s stall I visit faithfully began life 80 years ago as simply a chair in the middle of Piazza Testaccio. While the work in Testaccio’s nearby slaughterhouse was for the men, the selling of chickens and lambs on the market was women’s work. From her chair surrounded by crates, great-grandma Lina worked – and it was work. She was succeeded by her daughter, and as times changed the chair became a stall, and the market gained a glass roof.

There was an only son, Mauro. It is Mauro I remember from my first years living in Rome in a flat almost above the old market. It was an extraordinary place, with iron uprights and the glass roof covered in so many years of leaves and grime it lent the place only a half light which made the mounds of fruit and vegetables, marbled sides of meat, polystyrene crates of fish and floral housecoats seems like exaggerated versions of themselves. A couple of years ago the market moved to its new position in front of the now sleeping slaughterhouse that closed in the 70s. Whereas the old market was all in shadow, the new one is light and bright, but the stalls – glorious Roman fruit and veg, cheese and meat, bottles of bleach and summer sandals – are more or less the same.

Four generations later, my butcher now occupies a prime position on the market, a double-fronted stall capped with the family name Sartor, immediately in front of the wonderfully bizarre Roman excavations we take for granted. Mauro, now in his 60s, works only on a Friday and Saturday, together with his wife Roberta, as they have now handed over to Daniele. He is absolutely his parents’ son, he has his mum’s huge smile, his dad’s knowing slant to the eye. His skill with a knife he has inherited from both.

In Rome, really good chicken, like a good plumber and good espresso, is hard to come by. Sartor thankfully has chickens and rabbits from San Bartolomeoa, a beacon of good husbandry just outside Vitterbo - we have visited to see where the chickens peck and flap. Good chicken costs accordingly, which means it is a treat.

Despite the occasional shower, and fresh chilly mornings, it feels like summer here now. The air is warm and sweet, kids are tearing round the piazza in T-shirts, teenagers have a naked inch between trouser turn up and Superga pumps, bar owners are funnelling endless espressos into large bottles that will be chilled. Our appetites are changing too, so is my cooking. Not that changes are so radical, I am too stuck in my ways for that, but there are small shifts: green spring stews have become warm red with tomato, sauces for pasta are cooked less and less, rosemary and sage have been usurped by parsley and basil, beans and fish are cooled in order to become salads.

Braised chicken is a good example of a recipe that changes with the seasons. A couple of months ago, this was a dish scented with garlic and rosemary, served hot with mashed potato or soft polenta. Today I made it with Sicilian tomatoes, added the vinegar along with the wine and finished it with a handful of grassy, bright parsley and served it just warm. In a month or two it will include red peppers too, loads of them, charred and smoky as a jazz club, and basil, for a dish to be served at room temperature whenever fickle summer appetites say so. But I am racing ahead. As Daniele joints my chicken, we talk about the recipe, and when I mention parsley he pinches his fingers, which indicates “what the heck?”. Oregano he says, which always makes me think of Sicily, wild and aromatic. Herbs like music, can pull a dish – and, in turn, you – in a completely different direction.

It is a straightforward dish, but one that requires a bit of attention, and tasting, particularly towards the end of cooking, when the chicken is reaching that point of tenderness, and the sauce is thickening. If the sauce thickens too much before the chicken is ready, a little more wine for both the pan and your glass should do the trick. This dish is a lot better after a rest so make it a few hours, or even a day before. In Rome this dish would be served alone, with bread to mop up juices, the vegetables would come after. I like it with buttery new potatoes.

1 Season the chicken pieces with salt and pepper. If you are using fresh tomatoes, and you can be bothered to peel them, plunge them into boiling water for a minute, then run them under cold and the skin should slip away. Roughly chop the tomatoes. Peel and chop the garlic.

2 Warm the olive oil in a large casserole and then brown the chicken pieces until they are golden all over. Remove the chicken pieces from the pan and set aside. Add the tomatoes and garlic to the pan and fry gently for 5 minutes or so, or until the tomatoes are thick and sticky (and intensely flavoured), then add the chicken pieces and any juices back and turn them into the tomato.

3 Add the vinegar, wine, sugar and a pinch of salt, let the pan come to a gentle boil and then reduce to a simmer and cook covered for 30 minutes, then uncovered for another 30 minutes or so stirring from time to time, adding a little more wine if necessary. By the end of the cooking time the chicken should be tender and surrounded by a good amount of rich, thick tomatoey gravy. In the last few minutes of cooking time, add the chopped parsley, olives and check seasoning.

Rachel Roddy is a food blogger based in Rome and the author of Five Quarters: Recipes and Notes from a Kitchen in Rome (Saltyard, 2015) and winner of the 2015 André Simon food book award